


A Boy Named Peter Parker

by Oddleoo



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Aunt May is wonderful, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peters got alot of issues he needs to figure out, Tony Stark Has A Heart, basically a summary of Peters life, but like very stream of consciousness, with the help of his loved ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:20:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15336756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddleoo/pseuds/Oddleoo
Summary: Peter Parker, from the beginning to the end, as seen from others and himself.





	1. Genesis- an origin, a creation, or beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Or, Peter has a lot of issues. He doesn't really talk about his issues, misfortune ensues.

Aunt May told him he was an easy birth, if giving birth to a child could ever be considered easy.  
It was an odd thing to be telling four-year-old, one who hardly understood the concept of birth, or where babies came from- but, Peter had grown curious about the specifics of his birth after his classmate, Cindy, had so innocently retold the story of her own birth to a class full of unknowning 4-5 year olds (the girl was allegedly born on a train halfway through its commute to Hell's Kitchen. May had a hard time imaging how awfully uncomfortable that must have been for the girls poor mother.)

It was only half the truth that his birth had been easy. _Yes_ , he had been small, but his birth lasted a total of 32 hours, and his mother’s water broke in the middle of a science convention. But- it had been a nice day. Sunny, with plump white clouds and a cool gentle breeze.  
It was a completely hectic, yet calm day- fitting for a boy as wonderful yet tenacious. 

"You were a very small baby,” she said while chopping up carrots she would undoubtedly- and somewhat fantastically- make taste _nothing_ like carrots in whatever new culinary plate she was attempting.  
Peter bounced on the small stool by the kitchen counter, a Capri-sun held firmly between his small hands.  
"Smaller than Murray the cat?"  
Aunt May paused, knife hovering over the uneven slivers of carrots. She peered down at Peter- the boy whose thick-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose every few seconds because they were too big for his small face. Who was often picked on for being significantly smaller than the other children in his pre-school class. The boy who was still perfect, despite his smallness, in the eyes of his aunt.  
She smiled and bent down and plopped a wet kiss on his forehead- to which he scrunched up his face.  
"No- not as small as Murray the cat but _almost_."  
He grinned then, and took a sip of his Capri-sun and Aunt May resumed her carrot cutting and Peter resumed his silent watching.  
May thought it might have been a little _too_ quiet, as Peter was always babbling about whatever new things he learned in class. Whenever Peter was silent, he was thinking, and when Peter was _thinking_ -  
"Where do baby come from?"

Aunt May narrowly missed cutting off her finger. The boy looked up at her, innocently and expectantly, and she had not yet experienced the benevolent curiosity of a child until then, so she was rightfully taken aback.  
She sighed, masking her short-lived embarrassment with a laugh that was nervous, but nothing short of normal in the eyes of her young nephew.  
"That's a question for your parents, not me." she settled on saying, because surely they would know how to explain the birds and bees much better than her- someone who was not a mother, who didn't expect to ever be a mother, who had already proclaimed themselves 'unfit for motherhood' and had been perfectly content with such a conclusion.  
May had the forethought to be a bit guilty- knowing how awkward and convoluted an explanation of the process of birth can be- to a 4-year-old no less.  
Peter nodded, seemingly content with her answer, reached over, and plucked a carrot from her cutting board.  
He took a bite, chewed for a bit, before his face screwed up in disgust, "I don't like carrots."  
May sighed, glaring at the oddly shaped carrot slices, "I don't either. You wanna order pizza instead?"  
Peter’s face lit up and he nodded.  
May smiled too- she was good at being the cool aunt who ordered pizza instead of forcing vegetables upon unwilling children.

 

 

Peter came back many times after that first week-long stay- Richard and Mary left Peter with May and Ben fairly often, as their work found them leaving the country as often as they came back. May didn't mind much- she and Ben loved Peter like he was their own, and Peter seemed to like coming to their apartment, despite its smallness and its lack of child-friendly things.  
They made do- Peter, May, and Ben were midway through a rather drawn out game of Uno when the phone rang.  
"I don't have any blues. I only have reds and yellows."  
"Okay, so you have to take a card from this stack until you do get a blue- also you're not supposed to tell me what cards you have."  
"Oh."  
A pause- "It’s a blue! I finally have a blue!"  
A chuckle- “Good job, Pete. Now, it's Aunt May's turn."  
"Aunt May! It's your t- May?'  
Her eyes were blown wide, and though Peter wouldn't be able to notice then, her hands were trembling.

Peter wouldn't remember the few hours after the phone call, only that, May would cry for a long time, and their game of Uno would be discontinued indefinitely.

 

 ***

 

Uncle Ben said they died in a plane crash and that he was going to have to live with them from then on out.

  
He rarely ever saw his parents without briefcases and in nice suits, rarely ever spent much time with his parents at all, but he understood the concept of death- so he knew that he would never see his parents again. He cried on the first night- but the next few nights after, he couldn't remember crying again.  
Maybe it was because of some optimistic childish hope that his parents would return, but he didn't cry again until the funeral.

The funeral was quiet, probably the quietest day of what short few years Peter had lived so far.  
Aunt May was crying and Uncle Ben had a weird look in his eyes.  
Peter glanced at the people around him- faces he both knew and barely recognized- all with the same face that Ben had.

And Peter cried again- full sobbing cries, and Ben laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and May hugged him close to her chest.  
He doesn't remember much about his parents, but he can recall brown hair, and black dress pants, and plaid shirts, and kisses on his forehead, and someone’s voice assuring him that they would be back, and another telling him to behave, and a heavy hand on his shoulder, and red lipstick stains on his cheeks, and red ties.  
He knew then what they looked like- their pictures were right in front of him, but he couldn't see them.  
He would never be able to see them.

***

“I can’t sleep.” He said.  
Uncle Ben and Aunt May glanced up. Peter was dressed in baggy pajamas, a wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, trailing through the dust covered floor. His glasses were lopsided like he thrown them on hastily.  
May quickly wiped away her tears and patted the space beside her.  
“Come here, honey.”

He wedged himself between the two adults, bunching up his blanket underneath their much thicker comforter.  
“Did you have a bad dream?” Uncle Ben asked. His voice had sounded weird- but Peter didn’t have the capacity to know why.  
“No.” He replied simply, which wasn't a lie, though, he had been plagued with nightmares on the few days after the funeral.  
“We’ll be okay.” Aunt May said- even though Peter had no reason to believe anything different.  
She rubbed his back affectionately, and he drifted to sleep.

He dreamt he was falling, surrounded by an endless sea of blue, completely alone. He only hoped that his parents hadn't felt as terrified as he felt as he rocketed towards the great unknown.

 

 ***

 

It would be several months before things could return to some semblance of 'normal'. Though the tragedy of death still loomed over their heads, they could joke, and watch movies, and laugh without feeling guilty, and Peter was quick to resume his long babbling, and his imaginative games wherein he pretended to be a pirate, and Ben pretended to be a crew member

“That cloud looks like a turtle with a jetpack,” Peter said, pointing a stubby finger at a white blob in the sky.  
Ben quirked an eyebrow, twisting his head in different directions.  
“Hmm... I think it looks more like a... pig with wings.”  
Peter giggled- “Pigs don’t have wings.”  
Uncle Ben then flipped over on his stomach to face Aunt May, who was unpacking a box of sandwiches for their much-needed break from the real world- a picnic at their local park.  
“Turtles don't have jetpacks either.” Uncle Ben so intelligently pointed out.  
Peter gave him an incredulous look- like he was spouting utter nonsense.  
“But you can _give_ a turtle a jetpack. You can’t give a pig wings.”  
And he said it so matter-a-factly, that Ben thought there was no room to argue.  
“He’s right,” Ben said to May, and she rolled her eyes lovingly.  
Ben and May got to arguing about whose sandwich was whose, while Peter stood and followed the line of clouds away from the preoccupied adults.

Peter strayed away from the two adults too easily.  
He was as curious as they came, often wandering places where his guardian's watchful eyes couldn't see.  
He wandered to the playground, where many of the children his age were throwing sand at each other, or burying rocks beneath the sand in an effort to pretend it was buried treasure, or simply swinging on swings, sliding on slides, or playing hide and seek.  
He tried to join in on any of the kid's games, but none of them seemed to want to play with him.

So he climbed the rock wall by himself instead.

It was nice and high at the top- he finally felt bigger than all the other kids in a way he’d never felt big before.

He sat at the top, idly peering over the other children like some kind of watchdog.

And he was perfectly happy as he was, just a stationary child sitting on a 6 foot tall rock wall, until he heard someone yelling his name.

It was May. She was frantically cupping her hands over her mouth, calling out for him. His Star Wars themed backpack was in her hands, and the bun she had so loosely tied atop her head was falling out.  
“Peter!”  
“May!” He yelled back.  
Her eyes found his and she had a split second of relief before she was panicking all over again.  
“Peter! Peter Benjamin Parker, get down from there right now!” She sounded angry- and Aunt May had never gotten angry at Peter before. Not even after he stole an extra cookie, or when he accidentally drew on some of her important papers, or when he accidentally got paint on the table.

Peter looked down at the sandy floor below and was suddenly struck with the realization that he was _very_ high up. Too high up- he didn’t want to fall. He was deathly afraid of falling.

So he cried.  
“I don’t wanna fall.”  
He blubbered, and snot and tears mixed on his upper lip. Aunt May made it to the rock wall and looked up at him with the kind of look that only a Mother could give- a look that was an impossible equal mixture of fear, anger, concern, and relief.  
"Peter, honey, come down. It's okay, I-I'm not mad."  
"I-I cant."  
He cried and the other kids watched, and the other parents judged as Aunt May tried to coax him down.  
Uncle Ben eventually found them and he was able to reach Peter himself, and Peter cried in his arms, and Aunt May silently chided him but hugged him nonetheless.

He climbed into their bed again that night.  
Aunt May rubbed his back, and ran her fingers through his hair, and Ben snored soundly beside them, and Aunt May may not have been fit for Motherhood but she would damn well try to be a good fit for Peter Benjamin Parker.


	2. Meridian- a point or period of highest development, greatest prosperity or the like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wanna be a superhero when I grow up,”
> 
> "You can be whoever you want to be, Pete."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the scenes in this chapter is taken directly from that one scene in Iron-Man 2 (Its pretty vague- it might not make sense unless you know what scene I'm talking about) because its been confirmed that the little boy in the Iron-man mask is, in fact, young Peter Parker. So I took that scene and ran with it.  
> Anyways, hope you enjoy. My tumblr is @the_oddest_Aud if you wanna yell at me about all things Marvel.

He was sat in front of the TV with his legs tucked beneath him, a bowl of apples and a doll-up of peanut butter in his lap, watching his favorite cartoon, when his uncle rushed into the living room, a cookie held firmly between his lips.  
He snatched the control from the coffee table and quickly flipped through the TV channels, barely acknowledging Peter’s protests.  
"Sorry bud, there's something on TV your aunt said we have to see."  
Peter was less indignant upon hearing Ben's words, even less when Ben finally found the news channel and emblazoned across the bottom of their too-small TV screen, were the words, 'Tony Stark is Iron-man'.  
"I don't believe it. _He_ is the Iron-man?"  
Peter pushed his bowl of apples off his lap and stood to come face to face with the TV screen and the off-focus capture of a man in a suit. He had seen -had heard- the name Tony Stark before, but it hadn't been a name of much significance to the small boy, having only heard the name in association with weapons, or with a great survival story, or spoken with disdain. He had also not yet heard about the 'Iron-man' the reporters and other solicitors on the TV were screaming questions about.  
"Who's Iron-man? Is he a good guy?" Peter asked, eyes growing wide when blurry pictures of a metal man were blown up on the screen. The pictures reminded him slightly of the terminator- who, while frightening, Peter had always been in awe of.  
Ben pursed his lips, "I hope so."  
Peter decided he hoped so too.

And as it would turn out, The Iron-man _would_ be a good guy, a hero to the public, and Peter’s idol for many years to come.  
Peter thought every citizen of New York ought to feel a lot safer, knowing that a hero as cool and moral as Iron-man was protecting their home.

He quickly became a superhero fanatic, and Uncle Ben and Aunt May were just as quick to embellish his love for heroes, buying him Iron-man memorabilia -and then Avengers merchandise when they came into existence- whenever they had the money to, or letting him indulge in the heroes rare appearances on TV.

 

 ***

 

Peter Parker was an intelligent boy.  
Far more intelligent than most children his age.  
His kindergarten teacher had called him “bright beyond his years”, claiming he was the future of their society.

Aunt May, had of course, already known this. Peter had always been a bright child- she’d realized as much when he’d asked where babies came from once again and she had given a partly true answer and he had just accepted her explanation as truth.

It wasn’t much of a shock when, for his seventh birthday, he asked to be taken to the Stark Expo so he could see all the “cool Iron-man gadgets” and possibly meet his hero in person.

Money was tight, but it was hard to deny the small boy anything when he flashed his toothy smile (or rather lack of teeth) and looked up at her with his brown eyes.

So they relented.

Uncle Ben took him to the convention, and Aunt May stayed so she could work a double shift to make up for the money they would inevitably lose.

Which she would soon regret.  
Because while she was cleaning tables and serving unappreciative New Yorker's their dinner, she just barely overheard the diners small TV reciting a breaking news story about an attack at the Stark Expo her two living family members had been so adamant about going to.

**

It was everything and nothing he expected.  
Ben had been a little adverse to allowing Peter into the four walls of the building after the rather 'explicit' opening- but after the frenzied opening had finished, he and Peter let themselves marvel the many suits, and Peter was most ecstatic upon watching another suit- the iron patriot- join the billionaire on stage.

And then so much had gone _wrong_ , and the great mass people were stampeding out of the expo as glass shards rained down upon their heads, screaming, and Peter was so small, he was easily displaced within the crowd.

Peter small fingers slipped from Ben’s hold- Peter had a horrible habit of straying away from the watchful eyes of his guardians.

Ben's yells were easily drowned out by the screams, and he only hoped that Peter wasn't screaming as well.

**

Peter wasn't screaming, and though he wasn't crying, he was scared. But every time his lips wobbled, or some frantic adult bumped their knees into his chest, or their waving hands into his masked face, he would glance up the night sky, and see the moving lights of a red and gold suit, and he maybe felt a little less scared.

He stayed behind on the naive belief that Uncle Ben would come back to get him. May had told him that if he was ever lost, that he should stay put, and wait for someone to find him, so he waited.

And there were the marvelous metal suits, aligned in a row, pointing weapons at the running masses of screaming people, and Peter had never felt like much of a hero before, but he thought he ought to try to be a hero then.

He lifted his arm, decked out in LED glowing plastic repulsors, and fired.

And the suit exploded.  
Peter was confused, of course, but his confusion quickly became awe when he spun and saw the legend himself, Iron-man.  
“Nice work, kid,” he said, and before Peter could get a word of thanks in, he was off.  
Peter stood there in shock until his uncle found him.

**

Ben found him rather quickly after losing him, which was great relief to the overworked, stressed man- though he was a little disturbed upon hearing Peter's retelling of his encounter with one of the rouge suits, but chalked his story up to Peter’s overactive imagination, in a hopeful attempt to convince himself that Peter _hadn't_ been so reckless.

Aunt May had cried upon their safe return and had told Peter he was never allowed to go to 'one of those stupid, overrated, shows again'.

Peter had been slightly dismayed- but silently, he thought, meeting Iron-man, hearing him say 'nice work, kid' had been enough to keep Peter ecstatic for a whole lifetime.

***

It didn’t come as a shock when Peter spoke his wishes to be a hero during lunch.  
“I wanna be a superhero when I grow up,” Peter said between bites of his dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.  
Ben thought it was amusing, how Peter was so easily able to adapt to life and it’s repetitive tribulations- not two days ago he had been involved in an attack that had left many injured and others not-so-lucky, had looked death in the eyes and smiled- and he was happily seated across from him, eating nuggets and ketchup.  
Ben ran a hand over his face. “Why is that?”  
Peter swallowed a mouthful of food, “I wanna be like Iron-man.”  
Ben smiled then, because it was just like Peter to want to do everything he could to be a righteous boy.  
“I wanna help people.” He added while wiping excess ketchup off of his cheek.  
"You can be whoever you want to be, Pete. And- you know- you can start off small. Maybe by helping your aunt clean your room when she asks you too?” It was a subtle way to get Peter to be more compliant- but he saw an opportunity and he ran with it.  
Peter’s face lit up, "Okay!" and he abandoned his nuggets and ran to his room, probably intending to clean, but would likely end up picking up a few toys, then playing with those toys and forgoing cleaning at all.

Ben wasn't frightened of Peter's wishes- every child had probably wished to be just like the Iron-man upon learning of his existence.

In retrospect, he probably should have told the small boy that being a hero didn't just mean beating up bad guys.

***

  
Because it happened like this;

Peter’s first friend was not really a first friend, moreso a classmate turned crime-fighting sidekick.

Peter Parker had seen Ned Leeds around the playground a few times. He was normally alone, and he wasn’t so standoffish that Peter immediately gravitated towards him.

There wasn’t anything that significant about Ned- until the day he saw a couple of older boys picking on him.  
The kid with the black shirt and spiky blond hair was taunting him with words Peter didn’t really know the meaning of.  
The kid with shaggy brown hair was tossing around what Peter assumed to be Ned’s lunch box.  
Ned didn’t look too upset- he instead wore the face of a kid who had grown accustomed to those sort of things.

Peter, firstly thought he had the common knowledge to not get involved, to tell any adult with any shred of authority, and let them handle it.

But he remembered, holding his fake repulser up, and the words, “nice work, kid” echoed in his mind, and he suddenly found himself stalking up to the older kids and throwing sand into their faces.

He doesn't remember much after that.

 

 ***

 

Yes, he probably should have told the small boy that being a hero didn't just mean beating up bad guys.

But, Peter Benjamin Parker was a mellow kid.  
He was well-behaved, he always listened, he wasn't spoiled, he accepted that sometimes May and Ben couldn’t afford things.  
He hadn't really thought he would _need_ to tell Peter not to go searching for a fight- and he was already so much smaller than the other kids.

So, Ben was pretty shocked when he got the call that Peter had been involved in a fight at school.

He arrived at Peter’s elementary school in 5 minutes, was directed to the nurses' office- apologized when the mother of one of the children he assumed was on the receiving end of Peter’s battery shot him a dirty look.  
Ben, of course, felt no pride in the noticeable wads of red stained tissue shoved up the boy's nose. No pride at all.

Peter was sitting with his head between his bloody and bandaged knees on the bed in the office. Peter's eyes were all puffy- his too-big glasses had slipped down his nose, and his shirt was crumpled awkwardly around his collar.

Ben sighed, settling in the seat beside him.  
"Are you okay?"  
A sniffle, "Yeah."  
“What happened?”  
Peter rubbed his nose and covered his scratched up knees with his small hands.  
“I wanted to be a hero. They were being mean to Ned and I thought-”  
Peter halted to rub at his eyes again, almost angrily, like he believed he had no reason to cry.  
Ben frowned at the 8-year old boy. Peter was righteous, he always tried his best to do the right thing, and it was both the bane of Ben’s existence and a great joy.  
“Pete-“ Peter looked up, lips wobbling.  
Ben sighed- he felt he was doing a lot of that as of late. Not that Peter was a nuisance, he loved Peter, but as all 8-year old children usually were, he was a bit of a handful.  
“Peter, you _are_ a hero. You’re a hero every time you come home and you give May a hug. And I’m so proud of you for standing up for what you believe is right but...There are other ways to be a hero. Like, being there for someone when they need you most.” He pauses. Peter sniffs.  
“Sometimes, being a hero is just, being the bigger man and walking away. Sometimes being a hero is just- being the rock for someone to lean on.”  
Peter rubbed at his eyes again, still keeping his eyes glued to the white floor of the nurse's office.  
“Do you understand?”  
Peter nodded, and Ben didn’t really know if he understood but he clapped a hand on his shoulder and told him he wasn't mad, but aunt May was most likely going to lose her head, both from worry and disappointment.

**

Peter had understood.

So the next day, when everyone involved in the fight was seated at a table where they weren’t allowed to engage in playground activities, he scooted next to Ned Leeds.  
“Hi, I’m Peter Parker.”  
He put of out his hand, and Ned Leeds happily shook it and said that what he did was really cool, and told him his red shirt with a huge iron man decal was awesome and Peter said his Star Wars key-chain was awesome as well.

His first real friend became his best friend, and his best friend was great at pretending to be a superhero too, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope yall are enjoying the story so far! Theres going to be 7 chapters so strap in folks.


	3. Peripeteia- a sudden turn of events, and unexpected reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wow, okay, that was bad."  
> Peter nodded in agreement.  
> "Like, you look really bad, man. Like, a ghost."  
> Peter nodded again.  
> "Like-"  
> "I get it, Ned. I look like night of the living dead."  
> Ned winced, "Sorry."  
> "It’s fine. I look worse than I feel. I feel a lot better than I did yesterday."  
> Ned didn't want to think about how bad Peter must have looked yesterday if he looked this terrible today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, Ned is an amazing best friend (and Peter is bit by a spider)

"We have to do it."  
"We don't _have_ to, but, it will be really cool."  
"It'll be more than really cool. It'll blow everyone's minds! We'll win. We'll _definitely_ win."  
"Or we'll _die_."  
"We won't die."  
"Every time someone does something stupid and says 'we won't die', someone dies."  
"We won't die. It'll be awesome. Ned, C'mon, please! Imagine Flash’s face. _Imagine_ _it_. "  
Ned imagined it, and he decided that if they _did_ happen to die, he would die with a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face.  
"Okay, I'm in."  
Peter grinned.

A week later, their project explodes, and Ned is both unsurprised and amused.

Like everything else in Peter's life- his plan was well-intentioned, and like everything else in Peter’s life, it had wound up blowing up in his face. Like the year prior when he'd attempted to climb a tree to retrieve a younger kids ball and had instead wound up falling from the tree, and while mid-fall had somehow managed to pop the ball with a single tree branch. Or, when he joined his school decathlon team- and by extension, made Ned join- believing that they would be valuable assets, because their English teacher said so- and had only wound up on the receiving end of Flash Thompson's incessant harassment for another 2 hours of the day (every Tuesday and Thursday of the for the next 4 years of his life)  
Ned had known that, while Peter was one of the smartest- if not the smartest- people he’d ever met, he was also kind of stupid.  
Reckless seemed the more appropriate name.

It was the first science competition they’d ever taken to doing together. And Peter- he’d wanted to “go big or go home”.  
And Ned- he trusted Peter and his often arcane ideas, so even though Ned's first impression of the experiment was that it was bound to go wrong, he went along with it. For Peter’s sake, and for the sake of his chemistry grade- which would undoubtedly be saved by the 30 extra credit points if they _did_ happen to win the science fair.

 

And his attempt to recreate the elusive Tony Stark arc reactor- albeit in a much smaller size- ended with a loud explosion, and with both Peter and Ned given 3 days of detention.

Ned was fine though, because while their experiment had failed spectacularly, the pay off- The gym's occupants unyielding laughter, Flash Thompson’s face of unbridled shock (because though the project had blown up, it was still impressive), Peter’s barely restrained smiles, and Michelle Jones momentary lapse in stoicism- was worth it.

 

***

 

Ned slumped in his chair.

“Well we didn't die, but my Mom's gonna _kill_ me."  
Peter picked up his head from where it was laid against the wall, blowing out a breath between his teeth.

"You and me both. I'm _so_ sorry Ned."  
Ned glanced over at Peter, whose hands were clenched tightly around his biceps, and remembered that Peter was nothing if not huge on guilt-complexes.  
"Dude, it's _cool,_ " he smiled, "You were right about Flash’s face. _Priceless_. His face is worth the 3 months of grounding I'm gonna get."  
Peter laughed, "Maybe not. May's gonna lose it when she finds out we blew up our gym."  
Ned laughed too, and he hoped that Peter knew that he was truly okay with it- Peter was his best friend and was always making Ned's life way more interesting than it would have been if they hadn't met.  
The door in front of them swung open, Mrs. Gallagher poked her head out of dreaded principals office. Their principal wore a rather weary look, but it wasn't so weary that the boys felt any contempt towards their actions- much worse things had happened at their school's science fair- unmentionable things.  
"Get in here, boys."  
They both let out a breath in unison, shared a nervous glance, before standing to face their doom.

 

 ***

 

Peter remembered his aunt's words, "You are not allowed to go to one of those stupid, overrated, shows again."

Though it wasn't a show, it had to do with science. It was a mandatory field trip (mandatory because Ned would have killed him if he hadn't attended as well) but would prove to be just as dangerous as the Stark Expo in the grand scheme of things.

Because Peter had wandered away again, captivated by this and that scientific advancement in the notorious Oscorp Tower, had wandered so far from his tour group, that he'd wound up lost, among things he was probably not legally allowed to see.  
Until he had stumbled upon a room, to which it had opened so easily for him, and promptly been bit by a spider.

The world had gone black for a while, but when he came to, it seemed as though no time had passed at all.  
He climbed to his feet, ran a finger over the raised bump over the back of his neck, and figured he should probably find his class before they sent security after him, and Peter got himself in trouble yet again.

He returned to his group, and if anyone had noticed he'd been gone, nobody mentioned it.

Peter wouldn't notice the feverish feeling setting in until the next morning when both May and Ben were already at work. He was left to his own devices as he slowly succumbed to the worst fever he’d ever experienced in his life.

**

Ned chewed his lip nervously. He tapped his fingers against the strap of his backpack, which was full of excess papers he had to give to Peter because he'd already missed a week of school.  
The elevator shuttered and pulled to a stop. The doors slid open, and Ned was greeted with the sour stench of antiseptic and alcohol.  
"He’s this way," May said, waving a hand for the boy to follow. She looked worse for wear- her hair greasy with a lack of a proper shower, and her clothes were rumpled around her skinny frame. A half empty cup was clutched between her trembling hands.  
Ned swallowed his fear, "Right. Lead the way, Mrs. Parker."  
She smiled a bit, but it was so lackluster that Ned almost winced.

They walked for maybe 3 minutes before they came across a door to a room labeled 'high dependency unit'.  
May pushed the door open, and Ned had maybe a second that he wished he was anywhere else- anywhere that wouldn't involve him having to look into the sickly pale face of his best friend.

Peter was awake- it was the whole reason May had let Ned come visit at all- but he looked rather dead. His skin was ghastly white, forehead covered in a gross sheen of sweat, arms mottled with needles, an oxygen mask strapped to his face.  
Peter smiled, nevertheless.  
"Hey, Ned."  
Ned hoped his smile didn't come off as colorless as he felt.

"Hey, Pete."  
May wiped her nose, "I'm going to go find Ben- he went to the food court and hasn't come back yet."  
"Because hospital food is just _that_ good." Peter, Ned thought, sounded like he was an avid smoker who was half dead from lung poisoning, voice all croaks and strangled words.  
May shook her head, smiling a real smile, "I'll leave you boys to it."

The door clicked shut, and a silence which couldn't have been possible in a hospital of all places filled the room.  
Ned shuffled to the chair beside Peter's bed, shrugging off his black Jansport backpack.  
Peter was the first to break the silence.  
"So...hospital food actually is pretty good. Or- that's what I've heard. I haven't really been able to eat it yet, but I _think_ it tastes pretty good."  
Ned nodded, “If it's any better than our school lunches, then it's probably good."  
"Yeah."  
"Yep."  
Ned glanced up at the monitors, then at the pictures of flowers that decorated the walls, and then at the card perched on the desk beside him, which Ned had sent earlier that week.  
He swallowed, "So... you really had a seizure."  
It wasn't a question, it was more, Ned accepting that the seizure was something that actually happened.  
Peter closed his eyes, "Yeah. I had a seizure. Wouldn't recommend it, _not_ fun."  
"Oh yeah?" Ned laughed, "Man, and I was really looking forward to having one too."  
Peter laughed, but then burst into a fit of coughs, and Ned lapsed into panic-mode.  
"Peter? Oh my _God_ \- Are you- Nurse! Do I get a nurse? Pete-"  
Peter waved his hand around, tubes dancing along his arms.

"Ned! Ned, _Calm_ _down_. I'm _fine_."  
Ned only calmed when Peter wrapped his fingers around Ned's forearm, and his coughs fizzled to uncomfortable grunts.  
"Wow, okay, that was bad."  
Peter nodded in agreement.  
"Like, you look _really_ bad, man. Like, a ghost."  
Peter nodded again.  
"Like-"  
"I get it, Ned. I look like night of the living dead."  
Ned winced, "Sorry."  
"It’s fine. I look worse than I feel. I feel a lot better than I did yesterday."  
Ned didn't want to think about how bad Peter must have looked yesterday if he looked this terrible today.  
"That's good- oh, hey. I brought your school work."  
Peter groaned loudly, sounding much like a car engine revving, and threw his hands up in exasperation.

"I thought I would be able to get out this week’s school stuff."

"Not at Midtown high. You can't escape school- even in almost-death." Ned sighed.

Peter laughed, a full body laughter that jostled his oxygen mask, and the tubes, and crumpled his hospital gown.  
"Hey- thanks for coming, man."  
Ned punched Peter's shoulder softly, loathe to disturb the boy more than his sickness already had.  
"Its cool bro, my mom wanted to bring you some cookies too- they're in my bag- but you probably won't be able to eat them yet."  
"I think your Mom’s cookies might just heal me."  
They laughed.

  
Ned stayed with Peter for a few hours, and he might have just let his optimism cloud his judgment, but Ned swore the boy was healing right before his eyes- skin pallor fading, sweat sheen dissipating, strained voice becoming clearer.

Peter returned to the utmost health rather impossibly within 2 days.

***

  
"Bro- you _have_ to see this."  
Peter slammed his notebook closed, hoping his best friend hadn't been observant enough to notice the words ' _web fluid formula_ ' written rather boldly across the top of his page.  
(The idea for the web shooters came to him in a dream.  
He’d been falling.  
The sky was blue, and the wind was cold, and the ocean below was impossibly still.  
He fell, and he calmly awaited the inevitable rushing frigidity of the azure ocean, but it never came.  
He never hit the water- he was suddenly stopped by strings of something he would only discover when he woke.

He made his web shooters, and he tested them in the solitude of his room, sticking the web fluid to his ceiling and attempting to climb it.  
It was trial and error- bruises mottled his back from the many falls he taken- bruises of purple and blue that healed to yellows and then to nothing in the short span of 30 minutes.

He jumped from the roof of his apartment building- and he fell, and he reveled in the crisp cold wind that stroked his face- and for the first time, he _flew_.)

"Hmm?' he hummed innocently, sliding the notebook into his backpack, peering into his friend’s excited face with sudden interest.  
Ned shoved his phone up to Peter’s face.

"Isn't he _awesome_?"  
Peter pushed the phone away so he could get a better look, and he nearly cursed upon discovering what Ned's excitement was for.  
"People are calling him Spider-Man- Dude, he's _so_ cool. He can climb on walls- his costume’s a little ugly though."  
Peter didn't really watch the video- he listened to Ned's relentless praises, and read the comments which called him good things, and for the first time in his life- he felt like a _real_ hero.  
A _Tony_ - _Stark_ - _Status_ hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely one of my favorite chapters to write so far. I love writing the interaction between Ned and Peter because they're so dorky and I can relate.  
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	4. Vicissitude- a change of circumstance or fortune, one that is not normally welcome or pleasant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter decided, while surrounded by bustling New Yorkers and neon street lights, he could never be a hero.  
> Not a real one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, Peters learns a thing or two about loss.

The wind was crisp, but the sun was warm- it was his favorite kind of weather.  
His phone buzzed in his pocket with yet another text message. He knew exactly who was texting him, and the reasons for the texts, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at them.

He didn't want this part of his life to be a secret, to be held so firmly to himself- but he knew his Aunt and uncle wouldn't understand, just as well as he knew _no_ _one_ he knew would understand. They would want him to stop- and Peter didn’t want to stop. He finally felt he was doing what he was meant to do.  
Just as Aunt May had been so adamant that he never go to one of those 'stupid, overrated shows again', she would sooner ground him to the safety of his room with nothing but a few board games, than let him willingly put himself in danger.

Peter watched the sun fall behind the tall New York skyscrapers and told himself that he would only be out for an hour longer.

**

It was naive to believe that Peter would stop sneaking out of his own volition, to hope, against everything, that he would notice their worry and distress and decide that his string of uncharacteristic rebellion was giving Aunt May 10 new grey hairs each hour he didn't immediately come home after school.

The boy ‘claimed’ that he was out with Ned, or with his decathlon team and then had told them he'd joined the photography club. AT first, May believed him, but there came a day when she walked into the boy’s room just after dinnertime and found it empty.

May and Ben knew he was sneaking out, but had decided that Peter was a good, trustworthy boy- whatever he was doing couldn't have been bad so they didn't immediately confront him.

Not until a day when Peter had been gone longer than normal.  
3 full hours after the sun had set- Peter was nowhere to be found.

"I'm going out to look for him."  
May sighed, full body slumping with the weight of her worry, "Maybe we should call the police-"  
"Not yet- it's only been a few hours. We don't need to get the police involved only to watch him walking up the steps like he hadn't been gone at all."  
"He's not answering his phone."  
Ben sighed, weary but reassuring, "Peter never has his phone charged- I doubt he even knows what a phone charger is."  
May frowned but she put down her cell phone.  
Ben's lips curled into a grimace, "I'll find him, May. And when we come back, we'll have a long talk about teenage rebellion- and you can ground him until he’s old and wrinkly.”  
May nodded, wringing her hands together by her chest. She wanted so bad to leave it to the police- but she trusted that Ben knew what he was doing. She let him go.

Ben placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before grabbing his coat and leaving their shared apartment, but not without assuring her that he would be back.  
May paced the room until she exhausted herself.  
She blew out a tired sigh, took a seat on their dusty couch, and waited.

**

Peter decided, while surrounded by bustling New Yorkers and neon street lights, he could never be a hero.  
Not a real one.

He tried not to think about the warm blood he could still feel spilling through his fingers, or the look on Ben's face as he stared at Peter’s horribly made, red and blue suit, and the life fading from his eyes, and his softy uttered 'Peter’ and his last wishes, before his body fell limp.  
He tried not to think about anything at all, as he slowly, in a disbelieving stupor, walked home.

**

He stared at his ceiling- it was white, and chipped in the areas his web fluid had stuck and had to scrape off with a spatula.  
Aunt May walked into his room a few times to tell him dinner was ready, but he never looked at her either.  
He didn't want to look at her, because he feared what he would see. Her grief, her disappointment, or maybe her contempt, in knowing Ben was only out there because he was looking for Peter.  
He fell asleep staring at his ceiling, and if dreamt about falling, he wouldn’t remember.

**

May took a deep breath, smoothed out the stress wrinkles of her face, before planting herself on the chair across from Peter.  
He didn't look up from his swirling bowl of soggy Cheerios.  
"Peter, look at me."  
Peter bit his lip, but put down his spoon and lifted his gaze to her chin. Not her eyes- not yet.  
"I don't blame you." She said, and she put her hand on his shoulder- Peter thought the touch was too gentle, she should have been angry, fuming, accusatory.  
"It’s my fault he was out there. He's gone because of me."  
Peter’s hand were shaking then, so he shoved them under his thighs so his aunt wouldn't notice.  
May put a hand over her face, and though she wasn't crying, he could feel the distress rolling off her in waves.  
"Peter- _look_ _at_ _me_."  
She grabbed his hands and Peter looked up into her eyes which were rimmed red, and at her stringy hair. He wanted to cry- but if he cried then she would cry, and she had only just stopped tearing up when she looked at the empty space on their dusty couch.

"It's _not_ your fault, and I _don't_ blame you. I don't know what you were doing out there- but I trust you. Whatever you were doing, it made you so happy. You were more confident- more confident than I've ever seen you before. Ben and I- we didn't want to take that away from you…”  
May ran a hand through her hair, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes.

"Ben- he wouldn't blame you either. It's _not_ your fault."  
She put her hands on his cheeks, and Peter didn't want to cry- but the tears were steadily leaking of their own accord.  
"I'm sorry. I-I'm so _so_ sorry." he fell forward into her arms, and he sobbed, and May combed her fingers through his hair, and she hoped he knew that she could never hate him.  
"We'll be okay," she said, and her words were very reminiscent of a time a decade ago when, under similar circumstances, they had both lost people they loved.

Once their tears had mostly dried, and Peter had stopped hiccuping, she found her voice.  
"Is not drugs is it?"  
Peter laughed, it was a weary thing, but it was real- the first real laugh either of them had heard in a long while.  
"No- it's not drugs."  
May nodded, "Good. That's good. You don't have to tell me what it is but- promise me it's not illegal, or dangerous."  
Peter swallowed, "It’s not."

May hadn’t yet noticed that he hadn't _really_ promised- though when she would eventually discover the truth, she would be both scared out of her mind, and silently proud. She hoped that Peter knew Ben would have been too.

 

 ***

 

Peter was walking home from school, hoodie pulled over his ears when he heard a woman scream.

It was pure instinct that he ran towards the source of the horrifying sound- even after he had resigned himself to super-heroics.

He stumbled upon an alleyway, which smelled of smoke and sewage, and immediately caught sight of a man standing over the cowering form of a woman in a yellow dress.  
The man held a silver knife high above his head.  
Peter reacted.

He yelled, loud and banshee-like- which easily caught the man's attention- and squared his fists.

The man might have been drunk, or something else, because all it took was a swift kick to the stomach to send the man into a delirious stupor before he fell unconscious.

Peter kicked the knife away from the man's reach before clambering over to the sobbing woman.  
She seemed mostly unharmed, save for a red spot on her cheekbone that would probably become a nasty-looking bruise in a few minutes.  
She was just scared. She held her hands defensively and squeezed her eyes shut, and it occurred to Peter that she was rather young- she couldn't have been much older than Peter himself.

Her guard fell a bit when she realized Peter was just a kid.

Peter called the police, and they arrived in short time. They rounded up the drugged up criminal, strong-armed him into a police cruiser, got the woman medical attention, and called Peter a hero, in that order.  
One of the officers, last name Pruitt, patted Peter on the shoulder in a way that was horribly nostalgic, "You're a brave young man, Peter. The streets are safer with you around."

He watched the cruiser and the EMT’s drive away, and he didn't tell May what happened when he got home.

Though, that night as he lay in bed, he thought, maybe, he could be the hero for that woman and for all the other people who couldn't defend themselves- the little guy.  
He would make it up to Ben- he would be the rock for the public to lean on, a _hero_ in Ben’s regard.


	5. Apotheosis- the highest point in development, a climax or culimnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just wanted to be like you.”  
> “And I wanted you to be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, Peter learns how to be better.

Meeting Tony Stark had been one of the strangest, notably, longest days of Peter’s life.  
He had long since withdrawn from his avid Avenger idolization phase- it wasn’t that he didn’t absolutely admire the powerful bunch of heroes anymore, because he _did_. He just didn’t feel that same childlike adoration anymore.  
It wasn’t the same without Ben.  
Nothing was the same without Ben.

Though, he was still struck with an insurmountable excitement upon entering his apartment and seeing _the_ Tony Stark, seated on his couch, chatting amiably with his aunt.  
He was still awed, upon learning of the man’s intentions, of discovering that out of all the super-powered teens in the world, Iron Man had chosen _Peter_ to fight alongside him.  
He was still, _Peter_.

But- that didn’t change the feeling Peter got when he walked into his apartment -still reeling from the aftermath of a day filled with Flash’s unrepentant teasing, and Ned’s chattering, and Michelle’s unsubtle observations, and Peter’s unsubtle ogling of Liz- and saw the Tony Stark, the Iron-man, seated in the spot where Uncle Ben always sat.

Though he had ‘homework’ (a life with his friends, his aunt who really had no one to help her cope outside of Peter, and his own emotional turmoil to deal with) he went to Germany, and he fought beside and against the very hero’s he had always looked up to.

They hugged- Tony had said it wasn’t a hug, but it felt like a hug, and Peter would withhold till his very end that it had been a hug. He told Ned it was a hug because _nobody_ opens doors like that.

 

***

 

His patrols became an expected and pivotal part of Peter's day.

It was all he could do to be the hero he wanted to be- helping the little guy.

He never really did anything too drastic- helping an old woman cross a congested street or helping a little girl retrieve her cat from a tree or stop a shoplifter while mid-run away from a small convenience store.  
Other days, he did run into more serious things, like knife-fights, heated drunken arguments, old sleazy men getting too close to young woman.

He thought, he was helping more when he was helping the people that were _actually_ in life or death situations- he felt, if he was actually _saving_ people lives, he'd be making it up to Ben.  
But, sometimes, he preferred the simple days.

There was no room for failure in simple days- no one's lives were on the line.

He reported everything, no matter how big or how small- and he knew how much it perturbed Happy, but he also knew that Happy was required to report everything back to Tony.  
And because of some uncontrollable naivety, he hoped that Tony might be proud of his work.

 

***

 

He stumbled away from the insurmountable wreckage of Mr. Delmar's shop caked in a sheen of ash and dust, and decided, he finally found something worthwhile- something that could really save lives.  
He called Happy- to which the usual response followed but Peter decided, if Tony Stark didn't have time for ATM robberies, then Peter would.

 

**

 

Peter had watched a lot of movies in his life.  
He thought, his steady pursuit of a car teeming with criminals and a dozen dangerous weapons, was a scene fit for a great critically acclaimed movie.  
He traversed the roofs of the suburban homes, watching the white van streak across the street, and he jumped, fully expecting the land on the van, but he got caught somewhere in the air, and then he was flying.  
A great big mass of metal wings had him by his feet, and Peter was yelling, struggling, clawing at the cold metal around his ankles.

And all at once, Peter was falling.  
He was falling, and it was just like his nightmares. His chest spider insignia flashed red. He was hurtling toward a great unknown, only this time his sight was obscured and he was enveloped in the fabric of his parachute.  
For a moment, while his heart wreaked havoc in his chest, he thought about May, all alone in their small apartment, and he thought about all the tears she'd shed for her lost family- and he thought about his parents, and how they died.  
But- then he hit the water, and he could only think about how cold it was.

He thrashed about the water for a long while, the cold leeching his energy, the water seeping into the fabric of his suit.  
Just as he was about to give in and take a breath, his face broke the surface, and he was flying again.  
For a horrifying moment, Peter thought the man with the metal wings had returned to finish him off, but he glanced behind him and saw the moonlight glinting off red armor, and it occurred to him that he was in the arms of his favorite hero.

They stopped at a park.  
"Alright, kid." his voice was accusatory- not much different than what his aunt sounded like whenever he claimed he hadn't been staying up that late, "Spill it."  
Peter sighed, but he explained himself.

And Peter would notice a few things in their short conversation.  
Firstly, that Tony was disappointed- that much became sorely obvious with his, "What were you _thinking_?”.  
Secondly, that Tony cared enough that he put a whole world of protocols and extra additions in his suit, like a heater and a parachute, and was more than willing to pull strings to get Peter into a good college.  
Thirdly, and probably the most jarring, that Tony actually listened to Peter’s voicemails, despite how uninteresting and small his deeds were and took note of them.

Peter had never really seen Tony Stark as more than an ascertained hero, an infallible man.  
Peter realized, he was more than that- he might have been the great an allusive Iron-man, but he was also human.

He was still human, but he was still a great hero- not infallible, but _great_.

He was there again at the ferry incident- as his arms strained to keep the ferry full of dozens of people from splitting in two.  
Try as he might, he was only a 15-year-old boy, and though he could stop a bus with his bare hands, he couldn't do this one thing.

Of course, Tony Stark wound up swooping in and saving him once again.  
And of course, he was disappointed. It seemed that as of late, Peter was disappointing a lot of people in his life.

But, Peter wanted to _be_ like him.

He wanted to be like him so he could make everyone he’d ever let down, proud.  
He’d let May down, by letting Ben die. He'd let Ned down, by always getting him in trouble. He’d let Ben down, by being selfish and getting him shot, and now, he’d let his mentor down, by failing to be a good hero.

“I just wanted to be like you.”  
“And I wanted you to be better.”

Peter didn’t understand how he could be better than Iron-man.  
“I’m nothing without this suit.”  
“If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”

Peter thought, maybe the man was right. Maybe Peter didn’t deserve the suit. Maybe he wasn’t worthy of the hero title. He hadn’t quite lived up to Uncle Ben's expectations of a hero.

He gave up his suit, and he walked home in the hello kitty pajama pants, and the baggy t-shirt, and he’d given his aunt a hug, and he’d promised he’d be better.

 

 ***

 

The universe really enjoyed throwing Peter’s attempts at normalcy right back in his face.  
Peter _tried_ to do things the right way- tried to be a normal boy who did normal things, who pretended to get winded after a lap in the gym, or fell down when pushed by Flash Thompson, who stuttered when faced with the pretty face of his crush.  
And it'd all been for naught, because, Peter, as much as he wanted to, couldn’t walk away from this one. He couldn't let Toomes get away with it.

And he’d wound up trapped under an entire building.

He cried- screamed for help- and it was a lot like the time he had been stuck on top of the rock wall, hopeless and just a kid, only, uncle Ben wouldn’t be there to save him.  
He hoped, rather naively, that Iron-man might swoop in and save him again, but he didn’t have his suit. He hoped, someone ought to hear his wails and help him, but of course, no one came. He listened to the dripping of the water. The settle of the concrete slabs that lay waste in front and on top of his body.  
He thought about how disappointed Tony would be knowing that he had failed again- how disappointed Ben would be.

Peter recalled the many times he had wished to be like Tony. He remembered telling may he wanted to be like Iron-man.  
“I want to be a hero. I wanna save lives.”  
“You can be whatever you want to be.”  
And Peter still wanted to be a hero. And he was. He was Spider-man, and though he failed more times than he had succeeded, he would get _better_. He was Spider-man, and though he was a kid, he was a kid who could stop a truck with his bare hands.

The world needed Spider-man- and he hoped, maybe, the world might need Peter Parker too.  
Peter braced himself, he pushed against the heavy slabs of metal, and concrete, and fiberglass.  
“C'mon Spider-man.”  
All at once, he was free.

 

**

Peter had finally done something right- had finally caught the bad guy and put them in jail and had made his mentor _proud_. He had more or less saved New York- and yet he didn't feel like what he did was _good_. Because- Liz, her whole life had been ruined, and though Adrian Toomes was a bad guy, he believed what he was doing was the best for his family.

So, when Tony Stark showed him his new suit and asked him to become a real, full-fledged member of the Avengers, Peter thought it was only fitting that he decline. 

Because, while Peter wanted to do more, he felt better when he did the little things- helped the old woman cross the street, bought the homeless man some food, retrieved the kitten from the tree. 

Peter stuck by his claims to look out for the little guy- it’s what Ben would’ve wanted, and it was what Peter needed.  
He needed to focus on the little things, if not just for now.

When he later told Ned about his rejection of Tony's proposal, he had been both pleased and exasperated. 

Exasperated, because, "I can't believe you rejected the Avengers, dude."

But Pleased, because, he liked helping Peter on his patrols as the 'Guy in the Chair'- liked helping the little guy as well.

 

**

 

Peter didn't see Tony for a long time after the Vulture fiasco. Almost a month passed before he saw the man in person again, and it was Peter who reached out first.  
Or really, it was Ned.

For the second time in Peter's life, he and Ned had teamed up for a science experiment, and for the second time in Peter's life, he decided to try to recreate the notorious arc reactor.  
After much trial and error, and yet another explosion- albeit of a much smaller magnitude- Ned threw his hands up.  
"This blows! _Literally_! Our fourth try and its blown up in our faces, again, _literally_!"  
Peter threw his notebook onto the lab table, blowing out a breath between his teeth.

"What are we missing?"  
Ned plopped his head on the table, squinting his eyes at their failed project, "Do you think it's too late to change our project? We can make a lamp out of a potato? Or a robot? I like robots- robots are cool, and don't blow up...usually."  
"We have to do this. We need _redemption_."  
"Dude, we _blew_ _up_ our gym last time."  
"That won't happen this time... I hope."  
Peter flipped through his notebook of painstakingly scrawled words, scrunching up his nose in concentration.  
Peter shot up-"Wait!"  
Ned shot up in unison, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.  
"I think I figured it- wait... never mind." Peter deflated, face falling in tandem with Ned's body, right back onto the table to sulk again.  
He groaned, "This _blows_ \- Lit-"  
"Literally, yea, I get it Ned."  
The boy sighed and watched soundlessly as Peter flipped through his notebook while biting his lip in concentration.

About 10 minutes passed before Ned brought himself back to a sitting position with a furrowed brow.

"Wait- wait wait wait... You _know_ Tony Stark."  
Peter nodded, not looking up from his science notebook.  
Ned gave Peter an exasperated look, "You know, _Tony_ _Stark_. The _creator_ of the original arc reactor."  
Peter sighed, "Ned, I can't ask him for help."  
"Why not?"  
"I have to do this on my own. Don't you think it's a little unfair if we get Tony Stark, probably the best engineer in the world, to help us with our science project?"  
Ned put his hand on Peter's shoulder, "Dude, Flash literally does the same project every year, and I'm pretty sure his dad does like, all of it for him. It's not unfair. And it's not like he's doing our project, his hands won't even touch it- we just need a few hints."  
Peter closed his notebook.

Peter didn't really think it was that unfair- in fact, he had thought about calling Tony about 10 times over. The thing that truly held him back from calling the man, was the big great ball of nervous energy that resided in his stomach whenever his finger hovered over the call button.  
He was nervous- as any sensible teenager would be when faced with the notion of calling their idol.

Peter swallowed, and it took one look at his best friend's pleading gaze, to come to a decision.  
"Okay."  
He fished his phone out of his backpack, reminding himself every second that he scrolled through his phone that he was doing this for Ned, for his science project, and that Tony Stark _would_ answer his call.

He pressed the button, put the phone to his ear, and not 3 rings later, there was a voice.  
"Peter? Are you okay?"  
"M-Mr. Stark! H-how's it hanging?" Peter winced, though the embarrassment was somewhat lessened upon seeing Ned saucer-like eyes, and his small whisper of 'so cool'.  
There was a long stretch of silence before a very audible sigh rang through his phone, and then, "Kid, I thought I said you use this number only for emergencies."  
Peter cringed, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I know- but this is kind of an emergency."  
"Really?" he said, tone disbelieving.  
A pause, "No- but I do need your help... with a science project,"  
Another pause, coupled with a long-suffering sigh, and then, "Alright kid, lay it on me."

He put the phone on speaker and he and Ned got to talking. It took all of 10 minutes for the two to figure out where they went wrong with their project.  
"Holy crap- we figured it out."  
"Ned, we did it. We _actually_ did it."  
They shared a high five and two bright smiles.  
"Glad I could be of service." Tony's voice was hinted with a smile, which proved to send Peter reeling.  
He sounded proud. Like, 'my child just won an oscar' proud.  
"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark."  
"Don't mention it- actually, really don't mention it. I don't know how credible your project will be if people knew you got help from me."  
Peter rolled his eyes, and the two boys thanked the man again, before hanging up- but not before Tony asked where their science fair would be located.  
Peter didn't think too much of it, too consumed by his victorious joy to read too far into his words.

It wasn't until the day of his science fair, where Peter and Ned stood proudly beside their small iteration of the arc reactor, and the Tony Stark showed up in dramatic fashion, that Peter thought, he probably should have paid more attention.

It was a wonder nobody recognized him, even if he was dressed in large sunglasses, a blue cap, and less meticulous clothing than usual- Peter recognized him from the moment he walked through the gyms double doors with his hands shoved into his jean pockets.  
“Holy _shit_.” Peter breathed out elegantly.  
Ned followed Peter’s gaze until he too, realized that the unassuming man in the blue cap was actually one of the world's greatest heroes, and he too, gasped out an eloquent, “Holy shit, that’s Tony Stark.”

Peter gulped, straightened his back, and walked to the man himself.  
Tony met Peter in the middle of the fair, and smiled, “I see your project went well.”  
Peter grinned, hands crossed over his chest smugly, “First place winners- we couldn’t have done it without you, Mr. Stark.”  
The man's smile never faded, even when Peter introduced him to Ned- who practically drooled all over Tony’s leather shoes from his unbridled admiration- and even when Peter went on and on about his new ideas for more science projects.  
He listened with a smile.

**

Peter started calling the man more often after that first phone call- and though they were never emergencies and he really had no reason to, Tony answered every time.

Peter’s rare visits to the compound became more frequent as well.  
Whether it be for suit repairs, or for Peter’s input on the Iron-man suit, or Peter's school work, Tony was always happy to help.

There were some days, though, that they didn't talk about suits or super-heroics.

Peter was a pretty observant person- it was hard not to be with his enhanced senses- but, he thought one didn't have to be a superhero with advanced hearing and sight to notice the slump of the man's shoulders and the sadness that nestled deep in his eyes whenever he got calls about the Avengers tower, or Peter accidentally slipped up and mentioned them.

When those days came, Peter tried to listen to Tony more, in the off chance that he opened up. He still talked a whole lot, using his wide range of facial expression and hand gestures, because Tony seemed to like it when he talked.

Peter often brought the man cookies, courtesy of his aunt who couldn't bake to save her life, and together they took sparing bites with ill-restrained cringes, before inevitably deciding to order pizza, rather than torture themselves with the eggy masses that were aunt May's cookies.

Sometimes, when Peter complained of exhaustion, and Tony hadn't had a full nights rest in a good week, they settled onto the couch in the living quarters, and watched alien movies. Tony called it 'training for the real thing', because alien invasions were that commonplace, that Tony figured he ought to be prepared.  
"But this isn't even that realistic. Aliens bursting out of people's chests? Really?"  
"You never know kid, Aliens are weird shit."

And then there were the times that Peter got hurt on patrol.

Like Friday, when Peter had been stabbed clean through the bicep, and he hadn't reported it to Tony, because he figured he had enough to worry about without Peter coming to his med bay every time he was shot, or stabbed, or pushed off the roof of a convenience store.

So he swung home, blood seeping from his wound, painting his suit a deeper red, and turning the light blues purple.  
He stumbled into the open window of his room -he thanked whatever god may be listening that his Aunt had been called in for an extra shift at the diner, and she wouldn't be home early enough to see him covered in blood, and dripping red all over his bathroom floor.

He staggered to the cabinet, nearly slipping over the clothes that littered his bathroom floor and dug around for his self-made med-kit.  
His med-kit was nothing special- it was full of ace bandages, and band-aids, and medical tape, and an awful smelling peroxide- enough to keep his wounds from bleeding profusely or infected, but not enough to treat something serious.  
Like a bullet wound- but, Peter’s healing factor was exceptional- a bullet wound of this size would surely heal over in a day.

He, at least, kept that thought at the forefront of his mind as he poured the peroxide into his bullet-wound and barely withheld a scream.

Moments later, after Peter had all but wrapped up his arm in the thick ace bandages, there was a resounding clatter from his bedroom. Peter's spider-sense didn't react- so he knew that whoever was making a ruckus in his room wasn't unfriendly, but Peter still stiffened like a deer caught in headlights.

He fully expected his aunt to come barging into his bathroom, with a food-stained apron and a face marred with purple eye-bags, but instead, it was Tony Stark who slammed Peter’s door open.  
"Peter!" He yelled, and his voice was filled with a guilty amount of fear, anger, and exhaustion.  
Tony's eyes instantly found the blood-covered marble sink and Peter’s crimson-stained suit.  
"Jesus, kid."  
Peter winced, "It looks a lot worse than it is."  
"Yea no shit, you look awful." Tony walked over and tentatively observed Peter's arm himself.  
"You need stitches."  
Peter probed his wound- which already looked significantly better than it had when Peter had actually been stabbed.

"My healing factor is already closing the wound itself. Trust me, stitches are only gonna make it worse."  
Tony gave him an incredulous look, "Stitches are only gonna make it worse? Peter, how many times have you done this? We have a med-bay at the compound- hell, I probably have an entire room, just reserved for you and your spider injuries."  
Peter shot an accusatory glance back at his mentor, "How did you know I got hurt? I told Karen-"  
Peter cut himself off, realizing it was probably not a smart idea to tell Tony that he'd asked his suit AI not to contact him after the man had been adamant that Peter always inform him when he got hurt.  
"What? Not to tell me you'd been stabbed? Yeah, I figured you'd do something like that, so the last time you brought your suit over for repairs, I added an extra protocol- if you lose more than a pint of blood, your suit automatically contacts me."  
Peter blew out a breath, "A new training wheels protocol? What's this one called? The 'boo-boo protocol'?"  
Tony sighed, "Pete, you really not to stop with this lone-wolf crap. If you need help, you can call me."  
And there it was again- the indisputable disappointment.  
Peter let his gaze fall away from the man, instead focusing on wrapping up his arm.  
"Pete-"  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I just- I want to be better. I'm trying to be better. I want to make you proud without you knowing about all the times I've messed up."  
There was a moment of tense silence, wherein Peter wrapped his arm, and Tony watched with worry.  
And then, Tony stood in front of Peter and put a hand on his shoulder.  
"Peter- this isn't-" He sighed- "You don't have to beat yourself up about getting hurt. You're not invincible- I'm not invincible. You can get hurt and still be a good hero."  
Peter looked up at the man and saw his gaze was sincere.  
Peter’s arm twinged with pain.  
Tony winced sympathetically.

"You should at least come to the med-bay for some painkillers."  
"Yea,” he nodded, “This kind of sucks."  
"C'mon kid,” he ushered Peter to his feet, all tentative touches and sympathetic winces.

“We’re going to the med-bay. I don't think I could sleep tonight if I didn't get you proper medical attention. What if that knife you were stabbed with had poison on it or it hit a major artery or something."  
"I don't think some drunk guy in an alley would have access to a poison knife."  
"You'd be surprised what drunk guys can get their hands on."  
Tony left Peter no room to argue, and he was flown to the compound in the arms of Iron-man.

Peter still didn't go to the compound every time he was hurt, but he went more often- and each time he went, Tony was there to assure him that he still did good.

**

And then, there was the time that Peter told Tony about Ben.

**

Peter had only, at first, heard the screams.  
And then he had felt the familiar disconcerting pricks of his spider-sense, and he was moving before he even knew where he was going.

He landed in the dark and seemingly deserted alleyway, feet scuffling against the dusty gravel and kicking up dirt.  
The base of his skull pricked, and his heart sped up, and his ears picked up the unmistakable sound of whimpering.

Peter shuffled through the alleyway, to where he knew the man was lying, to where he knew the blood was spilling. His head suddenly felt fuzzy, and his hands were suddenly shaking, and his legs felt like they were made of gelatin, but Peter never stopped walking.  
He walked until the man came into view. a man, dressed in black pants, black oxfords, and a button-down plaid shirt, stained with a steadily growing blot of crimson blood.  
"Help me." Peter swallowed, and it was winter, and his uncle was dying in front of him all over again.

_"P-Peter."_  
Peter dropped to the pavement, ignoring the painful impact of his knees.  
He shoved his hands into the wound, trying desperately not to throw-up whatever was left in his stomach when the lukewarm liquid spilled over his fingers.  
_"Stay awake! Please, U-uncle Ben. Please, don't go."_  
The man writhed from the pain, and Peter pleaded to no one in particular that this man- someone he had never met before but was uncannily similar to his uncle- survive.  
"Peter, you're heart rate has increased dramatically. I am advised to contact Mr. Stark in this situation."  
Peter was too focused on trying to stem the bleeding of the man's wound to acknowledge his AI's oddly worried voice- to stop Karen from contacting Tony, as he often did.  
"Contact the police- a-and the paramedics," was what he said instead.

  
Peter was crying.  
True, hysterical crying. His vision was blurry, and his entire body was trembling, and the man below his crimson colored hands- not his uncle, but a dying man nonetheless, who probably had a family anxiously awaiting his safe return home- had closed his eyes and he might have been dead, but Peter didn't stop trying to stop the bleeding.

Peter didn't stop until he heard the distant sound of sirens, and then the much closer sound of footsteps.  
His hands left the man's wounded stomach, caked to the near elbows in a deep rust.

He crawled to the top of the building, and he swung.

In no particular direction, because his head was still fuzzy and his hands were still trembling and he his chest was still heaving with uncontrollable hysterics.  
There was still someone speaking in his head again, that same feminine voice, trying to calm him with empty reassurances and the promise that someone was on their way.

Peter landed on a roof of some building in some area of Queens, and he buckled beneath the weight of his grief.  
He sat against a wall, head fuzzy, chest heaving, covered in someone's blood, the fabric of his mask now doused in his tears.

He didn't know how long he sat there alone, crying, and finally feeling the weight of his long-ignored grief.  
But he wasn't alone for long.

He heard the familiar and somewhat comforting roar of approaching thrusters.  
There were footsteps, and then there was a man beside him.  
"Peter? Peter, what happened? Where are you hurt?"  
Tony ran his hands over his arms, eyes traveling over his torso, which was also covered in blood.  
"Jesus, this is a lot of blood." his voice was trembling along with Peters' hands.  
"It's not mine."  
Tony stopped trying to strong-arm Peter to his feet, "What?"  
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, "There was a guy- he was mugged I think, and he got stabbed. I-I had to stop the bleeding." a hysterical laugh flew from his mouth before he could stop it.

"I think- I think I freaked out a little bit."  
Peter pulled off his mask, exposing his most definitely red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks so he could breathe a little easier.

Tony stared at Peter in disbelief before settling into the space beside Peter, slumping and blowing out a breath like someone had just informed him that the world would survive after previous beliefs that it was ending.  
"You _'freaked_ _out'_?"  
Peter nodded, not trusting his voice not to tremble.  
Tony peered at Peter suspiciously, eyebrows pulled together in the same way Aunt May’s did whenever he told her his patrol had gone fine.  
"Karen told me that your heart rate was through the roof. I thought you were going into cardiac arrest- that seems like more than just a little 'freak out' to me." Tony didn't sound particularly mad, but he definitely wasn't calm, and maybe that's what pushed Peter over the edge.  
His breath hitched, words catching somewhere in his throat.

"I’m sorry."  
And Peter finally told the man about Uncle Ben. About how he died because Peter had been stupid as a fledgling hero, had failed to catch a criminal, who would later rob and kill his uncle. How his uncle’s death was all his fault- and he was the only one who knew.  
Maybe he was incoherent, and maybe Tony had better things to worry about than a 16-year old kid's emotional problems- but he listened.

"You did everything you could- stop blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault and your uncle- he would be proud of you."  
Peter remembered his first ever school fight, and Ben's words.

_“Peter, you are a hero. You’re a hero every time you come home and you give May a hug. And I’m so proud of you for standing up for what you believe is right but...There are other ways to be a hero. Like, being there for someone when they need you most.”_

Peter knew that Tony wasn't the greatest at comforting people- he didn't hold Peter in his arms like his aunt, or wrap him in blankets and give him all the comfort food he could wish for like Ned, but he talked and that was all Peter really needed.  
He was more Peter's hero that night than he had ever been before because he was there for him when he needed him most.

**

After Peter had stopped crying, and after he had reassured the older man that he was okay enough, Tony brought him home - not before stopping to retrieve his backpack, so he could change into his more mundane clothes. (Tony took his suit and promised to get it properly cleaned for him, and would return it in due time.)

Tony was silent, and Peter was unnervingly quiet, but Peter thought, he was okay. Or he would be okay- it would take a while, but he would be okay.  
Peter thanked Tony before he could fly off, and he hugged him- a real hug that was awkwardly returned, but not unwanted.  
"Don't keep this stuff bottled up, kid. If you need to talk to someone, then talk. You have your aunt, and you have your- uh, Guy in the chair, and- you have me."  
Peter nodded- he minutely thought about those days when Tony would loosely talk about Siberia, about how he never really talked about anything that ever happened to him, and then thought about his proclamation after the ferry incident- "I want you to be better."  
"I will... and you should too. Talk, I mean. I will listen, if you need me to."  
Something flashed behind Tony's eyes- something Peter couldn't quite decipher. It was gone as quickly as it came.  
Tony ruffled Peter's hair, "Go to your aunt before she kills us both."  
It wasn't a confirmation, but Peter was reassured nonetheless.

He walked into his apartment- his aunt was angry, and she grounded him indefinitely, but Peter was just glad to see her. He hugged her- and if she noticed his red-rimmed eyes, she didn't mention them. She just hugged him back and held him close until Peter pulled away.

 

 

When, a few days later, Tony returned with Peter's new and freshly cleaned suit, and asked if Peter was okay, he smiled- a real genuine smile.  
"I'm good," he said.  
"Good."  
And then they talked about some possible improvements to his suit- easy slipping back into the usual swing of things.

 

***

 

Peter was running.  
His legs were sore from the previous night's patrol, and his chest was heaving- but he couldn't stop.

He smiled ecstatically, the new idea for his web shooters still fresh in his mind.  
He couldn't wait to tell his mentor- he was running to the lab, his honorary second home, where Tony would most probably be.  
He was so eager to share his ideas, he didn't notice the woman walking towards him before he had barreled into her and knocked both of them down.  
It hadn't hurt much, but he feared it might have hurt the other.  
"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you- are you okay? I'm so sorry!"  
There was a laugh- a winded one, but a laugh.  
"You must be Peter?"  
He startled, "What?"

Peter helped the woman to her feet, who seemed more frazzled than anything else.

"Tony's told me a lot about you.”  
And that confused Peter, and also kind of made his heart soar with some unabashed pleasure because it seemed that Tony talked, seemingly positively about Peter to other people.  
Peter looked up at the woman then- she was tall and while her smile was radiant, there was an underlying intimidation in her stature, that had Peter stumbling over his words-  
“You- he- I-“  
And then it dawned on Peter. He knew this woman. He had seen her on TV before, standing beside Tony or simply speaking on her own. He had seen her picture on the table in Tony’s lab and seen her name on the caller ID of his phone.  
“You’re Pepper Potts.” He stated rather dumbly.  
“I am.” She said with a certain pride to her words that Peter thought was completely justified- she was the Pepper Potts, after all.  
“Uh- hi? I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”  
Peter had half a second of calm before he realized that he’d introduced himself while the woman had clearly stated that she already knew who he was.  
Peter was saved the embarrassment- she simply flashed a smile that was equally radiant as it was fond.  
“If you’re looking for Tony, he’s in lab 2.”  
Peter nodded, skirting around the woman, “Uh thanks. Also, sorry again for knocking you over.”  
The woman waved her hand around dismissively. “It’s fine- Tony's done worse while distracted by his thoughts.”  
And that was true- Peter recalled a time when Tony had been so immersed in one of his projects, he narrowly missed nailing Peter in the forehead with a screwdriver when Peter had so soundlessly slipped into his lab.  
“You got that right.”  
They shared a laugh, and Peter turned to leave, not without thanking the woman again.  
“Thanks to you too, Peter.”  
Peter faltered, spinning on his heel to raise an eyebrow at Pepper.  
“W-what?” He was back to stuttering confusedly.  
“Thank you for being you. Tony- he’s been different since you came along. He talks more, and he’s happier. So- Thank you.”  
Pepper smiled again, and this time it was full of a gratitude he hadn’t been able to see before.  
Peter pulled at the collar of his sweater, a nervous tick, “Uh, you're welcome?”  
Pepper nodded, patted Peter on the shoulder and turned away, her heels making loud clips against the marble floor.

Peter stood there for a moment longer, watching the woman leave, mulling over her words.  
Peter, he started back towards the lab and he smiled to himself, happy knowing that he’d finally been able to return the favor- finally been able to be a fraction of the hero for Tony, as Tony was for Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was the hardest chapter to write because I didn’t want to just completely rewrite all the scenes that happened in the films so they’re just kinda vaguely brushed over. I did like writing the interaction between Tony and Peter though they’re my faves.


	6. Terminus- An End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd lost.  
> The heroes had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, Peter learns a thing or two about dying.

Peter had always had simple birthdays.  
Mostly because he preferred simple birthdays, but also partly because his Aunt and Uncle could never really afford to do anything too extravagant. His 7th birthday, the incredible and life-altering Stark Expo trip, had probably been the most expensive of his many birthdays. But, he usually just had small "parties" which were really just small get-togethers with Ned's family, and his own.

But- his 16th birthday would have to be different, because Ben was gone, and May was struggling with money, and Ned and MJ were really his only friends, and Tony Stark had already offered to buy Peter an entire buildings worth of star wars memorabilia (to which Peter politely declined- he didn't want to be spoiled, and although he knew it wouldn't put a dent in his bank account, Peter preferred not having the man spend so much money on him.)

So they planned for a simple get-together, with Peters short list of good friends, and Aunt May, and Tony Stark, and everyone else that had made an impact in his life.  
Peter was perfectly content with the plan.

His birthday was a whole month and a half away, but May liked to plan things in advance, so his birthday party- if it could even be considered as much- was already entirely planned out.

Though, as it would turn out, her plans for a simple, close-knit party would never come to pass.

 

***

 

One of Peter's most distinctive traits was that he was rather reckless.

He often threw himself into battle before really knowing what he was getting himself into- like with Adrian Toomes, or the ATM robbery.  
Like with the battle in the middle of New York- he had seen the massive alien spacecraft hovering over his city, and had promptly stowed away from his bus, fully intending to fight off some aliens.

It wasn't his intention to end up lost in the middle of space in an alien spacecraft with his mentor and a sorcerer with a sentient cape- but he guessed that was a small price to pay to ensure the safety of his home.

He thinks, his inability to walk away from a fight, when there were lives on the line, probably stemmed from Uncle Ben's passing- when he could do the things that he could, but he didn't, and the bad things happened, they happened because of him.

So, he didn't really regret stowing away from his school field trip- not when there was a chance, that while he was happily chumming it up with his friends on a field trip he was hardly interested in, Tony Stark could have _died_ in space. He would have regretted it for the rest of his life if something happened- someone got _hurt_ \- because he didn't help.

Tony looked less than content with Peter's impromptu accession onto the Avengers team- he seemed pretty displeased with Peter's presence on the giant doughnut-shaped spaceship in all- but Peter figured, for once, he was okay with Tony's disappointment because he needed to be there.

He needed to help.

 

***

 

Tony Stark had never really thought about having kids.  
He didn't think he was the most suited for fatherhood, having been raised by a mostly absent father who only showed any ounce of paternal love when he made some momentous scientific achievement.  
He lived a hectic life- he could barely be there for Pepper, and his chances of dying while trying to save the world from yet another intergalactic attack were too high- he wouldn't want to leave a child fatherless, and Pepper as a single mother.  
He had resigned himself to fatherhood.

But then he had met a boy named Peter, and he thought, being a father might not be so bad.

Peter wasn't Tony's son, but he was kind of his kid, and Tony had never felt much like a father before Peter came along until he came along.  
Peter wasn't Tony's son but he still felt a prideful, smug feeling whenever the boy did something especially good, like winning his school science fair or catching a criminal that had been evading the police for weeks.  
And- he still had about 4 panic attacks in a row whenever FRIDAY relayed Peter's vitals, and his heart rate was too high, or his blood pressure was too low.  
He still felt an ungodly amount of worry when he discovered Peter hadn't been sent back to Earth like he wanted.

But- he enjoyed Peter's visits, his aunt’s horrible cookies, his long nonsensical rambles while he worked, and his stupid pop-culture references.

He had never wanted kids, but- as stressful, and aging, and _exasperating_ as parenting was, it was also kind of _nice_.

**

They stood in a circle, equally at odds and disillusioned with their current status.

Stranded in space, injured, grieving, failures.

They'd lost. It hit Peter with such insurmountable clarity that he stood stock-straight.  
They'd _lost_.  
The heroes had lost.  
Every story he'd ever read, every movie he'd ever watched, the heroes always wound up victorious.  
They weren't supposed to lose.

He helped his injured mentor to his feet and tried not to think about Tony's earlier statements that he wasn't invincible.  
No- they weren't invincible, but they were _heroes_ , and they could still find their way back.

Peter fully intended to voice his naive hopes to the disillusioned team, but once he glanced up, the woman with the antennae- he had never learned her name- was disappearing.  
And then- it was the buff man with the red tattoos, and then Star-Lord.

And then- there was a prick at the base of his skull- an encompassing feeling of grief and sorrow- and Peter knew he was gonna disappear too.

It didn't hurt, but everything was cold, and Peter could only think about everything he wouldn't get to do. He was a month away from 16- a month away from getting his permit. A month away from starting his junior year of high school. A month away from having his first ever birthday party that Tony Stark would willingly attend.  
He wasn't ready to go yet.

Peter wasn't ready to go, because he hadn't yet made it up to all the people he'd wronged in his life.  
Not May, who was always willing to work an extra shift to pay for yet another backpack for Peter, who he had lied to for an entire year but who still loved him unconditionally, who had been scared, but mindful of Peter's Spider-Man extracurriculars, who was a wonderful mother, despite never having planned to be one.

Not Ned, who always had Peter's back in his new and arcane ideas, who kept his secrets, who was his first ever best friend, and had been Peter's crime-fighting sidekick right from the start, who would gladly get 3 days of detention after lying about watching porn just so Peter's identity could remain intact.

And not Liz Allen, who still spoke to Peter after abandoning her twice, who didn't know that it was Peter's fault her entire life had fallen apart.  
Not Michelle Jones, who had become a steady friend, who had her suspicions but never asked Peter for more information than he was willing to give, who he often left to fend for herself in decathlon practices, but never kicked him off the team.  
Not Happy Hogan, who listened to Peter's long and irksome voicemails, and still relayed them to Tony, despite how needless it might have been.

Not Tony Stark, who had taught Peter to be better, who created a suit for him with a whole assembly of safety protocols, just to ensure Peter's well-being, who was there when Peter needed to talk, and happily listened, who would undoubtedly blame himself, as he often did, for Peter's recklessness.

And not Uncle Ben, who wasn't Peter's father but was more than an uncle, who taught him what it meant to be a hero, who baked the best Peanut Butter cookies, who died before Peter could tell him how much he cared. Who died because Peter had failed to be the hero Ben had wanted him to be.

And not his parents, the woman with red lipstick and the man with red ties, who he still couldn’t see, but he loved nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, and it wasn't just an apology to Tony-it was an apology to everyone. An apology that would get lost somewhere in the wind, but one that needed to be heard.

Peter stared at the sky, and just like his nightmares, he fell.  
There was no one to catch him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my dudes, I had to do it to em.
> 
> Don't worry your little hearts, there's still one more chapter!  
> It won't make you cry. Probably.
> 
> :)


	7. Renascence- a renewal of life, vigor, interest, a revival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were all alive again.  
> "Holy Shit."

Just as soon as he had fallen into nothingness, he was opening his eyes and staring at an orange sky.  
It wasn't a middle-of-a-sunset kind of orange, it was a deep, unfamiliar orange that was definitely not a natural earth phenomenon.

Peter pushed himself up from the dusty floor, arms shaking with some inexplicable weakness, and the first thing he saw, were 3 bodies, all sprawled out in front of him like statues.  
For a horrifying moment, he thought they were dead, but the biggest man let out a low groan, and they were all roused from their sleep.

Peter, while watching them gather themselves, was gathering his thoughts as well. He had maybe a few seconds of ignorant bliss before the memories came crashing back.

His arms and legs crumbling to ash. The fear. The grief. Their ineluctable despair and hopelessness when they'd discovered they'd lost.

But he was alive again? Peter turned to the 3, then remembered the other who had perished along with them.  
Peter spun on his heel, eyes making contact with the man in the red sentient cloak- Doctor Strange.

They were all alive again.  
"Holy _Shit_."

**

Peter would come to realize a few things in the few days after his resurrection.  
For one, Tony Stark was not an attractive crier. That much became glaringly clear when Peter had been dropped back onto the green grasses of Earth through one of Doctor Strange's convenient portals, and landed right in the midst of some tragically beautiful sob-fest of a reunion. There were a great number of trees around Peter, but also a great amount of vaguely familiar people, and other much more familiar people- like Steve Rogers and that one guy with the metal arm.  
Peter was alone for maybe a minute before a man in a suit broke through the treeline, spotted Peter, and promptly began to get all choked up with some uncharacteristic happy-tears. Peter cried as well, and they hugged- a real hug, that was nothing like the first hug in the car, or the second hug outside Peter's apartment.  
It was a real, squeeze-the-other-person-until-you-can-no-longer-breathe kind of hug.  
"I guess we're finally there now?" was Peter's first sentence to the man, and it was probably the right thing to say because the man laughed.  
But, Peter thinks, Tony would have laughed regardless of what he said, because he was just that happy to see him alive.

For two, Ned was an even uglier crier. Full congested sobs wracked his body when he saw Peter again, face red, and eyes puffy. Peter found out Ned had been one of the unlucky few who had perished in the snap, and it had happened in the middle of their field trip.  
"Everyone just started disappearing. I didn't know what to do- I thought I was dreaming, but it was real, and then _I_ was disappearing-" Ned cut himself off, voice getting caught somewhere in his throat. He squeezed Peter harder, and Peter squeezed back- mutual assurance that the other was alive and not an intangible pile of black ash.  
For a while, Peter just listened to Ned's periodical hiccups- until he decided that it was high time they made up for all their lost time with a nice sleepover, coupled with a whole array of unhealthy foods, and a collection of star wars movies.

For three, May was beautiful, and Peter was probably the ugliest crier out of all of them.  
When Peter first saw May, his first thought was that she looked much like she had after Ben had died. Wrinkled clothing, hair a stringy mess, brown eyes sunken. But- he also thought, she looked radiant. Happy. So elated, she seemed to be healing right before his eyes.  
He cried, and Aunt May held him close to her chest, and she sobbed- but, it was a bittersweet thing. Peter had never once heard her cry from an overwhelming happiness- but he decided that he wouldn't mind hearing the sound again.

For four, though there had existed a near cathartic moment after he had disappeared, wherein Peter had forgotten about all the things that had happened in his life- Ben, his parents, his ever-recurrent grief- he would have missed being alive.  
He would have missed his aunt, and her horrible cooking, Ned and his awful jokes that still managed to send Peter rolling, Tony and his parting words of wisdom and their long therapeutic talks.  
He would have missed the sunrise, which he would often gawk at while perched atop a tall building while Karen chattered along in his head, asking about school and relaying his injuries.

He would have missed the small things.

For five, he'd been dead for 3 months- his birthday had up and passed while he'd been trapped somewhere between life and death- but it was decided then that though it was well past the day of his birth, Peter deserved a nice birthday party.

 

***

  
Someone tapped his shoulder.  
Peter startled, eyes blinking wildly around the wetness that had suddenly taken home behind his eyelids.  
He was only glad that the tears hadn’t actually started falling- to start crying in front of everyone he idolized and loved would have been the low light to his long and decidedly not simple birthday.  
“Any day now, kid. You've been staring at those candles for like, 10 years, I think I have 20 new grey hairs.”  
“You sure that’s not just because you’re old?”  
A scoff, “Like you’re much younger, Happy. At least I’m not 100 years old.”  
“Steve isn't here, but on his behalf, I say, he's _95_.”  
Tony gave his almost-wife an eye-roll.  
“Same difference.”  
“This is _literally_ the greatest day of my life.”  
“Ned, every day that has cake involved is the best day of your life.”  
“MJ, Did you just make a _fat_ joke?”  
A sigh came from right behind Peter, “I can’t believe this is my life now.”  
Peter smiled up at his Aunt May, who, despite her long-suffering tone, was smiling widely.  
She seemed to have no qualms against their apartment being filled with a man who had saved the world and the rest of the universe, his bodyguard, his almost-wife, and Peter's two best friends.  
He turned back to the large group of people who weren’t really friends but were some convoluted kind of family that had together saved Peter’s life- who he was immensely thankful for.  
“Thanks, guys, really this has been fun. A little much, considering we just got back, like 3 weeks ago, but fun.”  
“Hey- we needed to celebrate, and Aunt May mentioned that your birthday passed so, hey- birthday celebration _and_ victory celebration in one.”  
Peter smiled, “This isn’t how I imagined my 16th birthday party.”  
Tony clapped him on the shoulder, “But it’s _so_ much better.”  
And he was right- it was so much better, because he wasn’t alone, and Peter half-expected his birthday to be a solemn day because his uncle wouldn’t have been there, but he was happy.  
He was _happy_.

He blew out his candles, and his only wish was that he could be this happy forever.

 

His birthday had turned out to be simultaneously simple and extravagant- MJ and Ned were there, and they'd all ate pizza and reminisced about their brushes with death, and MJ told Peter how she'd figured out he was Spider-man. His aunt was there of course because she was always there, and she had baked a cake, and for the first time, Peter ate her creation and enjoyed it, even if it did taste vaguely of scrambled eggs. Happy had come by to give him a congratulatory half-hug and a gift card to the movie theater, and to assure him that if he ever needed a ride, he was more than willing.  
Tony Stark had visited with Pepper Potts to give him a gift- a card signed by all his favorite heroes and a much smaller ID card with his name on it.  
“What’s this?” He'd asked, peering down at the lamented card attached to a lanyard decorated in Star Wars characters.  
“It’s an Avengers member card. I thought we should do it right.”  
Peter squinted suspiciously, “Avengers member cards don’t exist.”  
Tony smiled, “No. But, I thought they should. For you at least. Thought it would make it more 'official'.”  
Peter stared down at the card- it was white, and there was the notorious Avengers logo in the corner next to Spider-man, and his lesser-known name, Peter Benjamin Parker.  
He grinned, “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

There was a second of silence between the two, where Peter just stared at the card, and Tony just stared at Peter, and Pepper and Aunt May stared at them both rather conspicuously from the side and smiled fondly before Tony let out a sigh.  
“C’mere kid.”  
And he hugged him.

The hug was nothing like the first hug, when Tony had denied the existence of a hug at all, and nothing like the second hug where Peter had just finished crying for his lost uncle, and nothing like the 3rd hug, wherein Peter had returned from death, and Tony had nearly squeezed the life out of him.

It was not a goodbye hug, or a hello hug, or a ‘Thank God you’re alive hug’ it was an ‘I’ll see you soon’ hug, and Peter decided then that those were his favorite kind.

Peter still dreamt about falling, but it wasn't uncommon that instead of falling into a black abyss of blue ocean water, he fell into the arms of someone he trusted and loved.

 

Peter had just turned 16. He had just come back from the dead, just become a full-fledged member of the Avengers, realized that he had made it up to Ben the moment he decided to be Spider-man- the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Had just decided that he is _better_ \- he is a hero.

Peter is 16 when he decides that things are going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank yall so much for reading! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it!


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